Cry For the Moon
by MossTheInflatableCow
Summary: Ted and Victoire thought that the death of his twin sister was enough for Grant to be getting on with, that it would be easier on both ends if they didn't talk about their pasts. But this weighs him down. One day, he will have to find out what happened.
1. Torn Apart

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter**_** or any characters you recognise.**

**Thanks to my beta Choices HP.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Torn Apart**

Usually, his eyes were a pale aquamarine flecked lightly with golden brown around the edges. But usual wasn't really all that usual for him. When he concentrated particularly hard on something, they would turn a deep, fathomless grey just light enough not to be black. When he was uncertain or nervous, they were vibrant green and, as was often the case, when he was frightened or sad, they would turn forget-me-not blue. On certain, rare occasions, they would echo his father's eyes, with a base of golden brown hinted at in his natural eye colour and copper specks splattered around the pupils. His eyes only looked like this when he was at peace with the world, so its appearance was very uncommon and almost always short-lived.

When he first started at Hogwarts, he tried to be optimistic. It was a chance to get away from his stupid life and his stupid problems so he could just be himself and not have to worry about his sister all the time. He quickly realised how wrong he was to have such hopes. Lupins did not have happy lives. He should have figured that out by then.

The end of his life came only a few weeks into his first year. He got a letter from his father saying that Anastasia was in St. Mungo's and that he should send a return owl telling them whether or not he wanted to be picked up to see her. He could tell by the blots on the page and the shakiness of his father's normally neat handwriting that it was more serious than he was letting on. He thought that maybe his dad wanted to give him the chance to have a normal life, even if that meant sacrificing the bond he had with his sister. But he was scared for the girl, so he wrote back telling them to pick him up.

When Ted and Victoire Lupin showed up to meet their son, his fears were confirmed. His mother didn't look like she'd slept in days and was actually shaking on the spot. His father had clearly been running his hand through his hair, something he only did when he was very nervous, because it was sticking out all over the place in a way that reminded the boy of Uncles James and Al. Both of them had rather bloodshot eyes, though he suspected that his father's at least were only that way because of the lack of sleep. He was sure that Ted Remus Lupin never cried. Ted made to approach his son, but when he let go of Victoire she swayed on the spot and it was obvious that, without her husband there for support, she would simply collapse. The man paused, an arm around his wife to hold her steady, and beckoned the boy forward. He walked up to his dad and, although he knew it looked childish, grabbed the man's hand. Ted looked down at him and asked in a voice that betrayed his emotions, "Are you okay?"

He nodded and grasped his father's hand tighter. "I want to see Anastasia." His fear definitely showed in his voice.

"Okay," Ted's voice broke a little, "You can see her."

With that, they took a portkey away from Hogwarts, landing not far from St. Mungo's. In minutes, they were standing outside her room, waiting for Healer Patil to let them in. It was torture waiting even though the boy did not really want to see what he knew he would when he was allowed into his sister's room. He went in expecting the worst.

What he saw was even worse than he expected. For all the world, she could have been dead. He wondered why his parents had given him the choice not to come; it was very unlike them. Maybe they just weren't sure they had it in them to concentrate on anything but her when she was doing so horribly. Maybe they were in denial and weren't planning on bringing him until they were as sure that she was going to die as he was right then. He wondered what he had done to deserve this…what _she_ had done to deserve it. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, by her bed, but he did know that the longer he sat, the less he thought, the less he felt. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not. What he did know was that when he heard his father's voice say, "Grant?" he felt the entire world crash down around him. His dad's voice sounded so weak, so small that the only reason Grant was sure that Ted had said anything was the feeling of complete and utter hopelessness he felt when he heard the man's voice.

He didn't answer. He just collapsed into tears and allowed himself to be pulled into his father's arms.

Five days later, Anastasia was a memory. Grant had spent hours of each day in her room, and the night before, when Healer Patil told them that she had a day left at the most, he had fallen asleep crying over her already lifeless body. He prayed to a God he didn't even believe in that the healer was wrong, that his twin sister would live. When he woke up, his parents were sitting across the room, talking to the healer. He heard her tell them that they would have to be the ones to do it. This made Grant feel even worse. He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and looked imploringly at his parents. Of course, even if she was kept alive by the healers, Anastasia would never be Anastasia again, but he didn't know what he would do without her. They were twins. They'd been born together, grew up together. She was a part of him. He could already feel that piece being ripped out.

He mother sat down in a chair next to him and pulled out her wand. She was going to do it. She was going to break the magical connection that kept Anastasia's heart beating. Grant had an insane urge to rip the wand out of her hands, but he knew it was no use. To his surprise, though, the muscles in her hand seemed to give out and the wand cluttered to the floor. He watched her turn shakily to her husband and whisper, "Teddy…we can't do this…"

If Grant felt hopeless before, it was nothing to what he felt now. Victoire never called her husband Teddy, never. Once, when Grant had asked why no one called him Teddy when everything up to around Christmas of 2019 said that was his name, his dad had told him that Teddy was dead. He wasn't entirely positive what that meant, but he did not miss the significance of his mother's words.

Ted replied in barely more than a whisper, "Vee, this isn't our daughter. This isn't Anastasia. She's already gone and it's not doing her any good keeping her body alive." Grant knew he was right, but that didn't make it any easier watching his dad lift his own wand in his left hand and end the spell. It didn't make it any easier watching his sister stop breathing. It didn't make it any easier knowing she would never help him pull a prank again. And it certainly didn't make it any easier discovering that, despite what Grant had always believed, Ted Remus Lupin did cry.

* * *

It had been five years since Anastasia died. Grant still thought of her all the time, still felt like she was a part of him, just lost somewhere. He had come to realise that the joke shop, the laughter, the happiness that Great Uncle George always seemed to be displaying must surely be a façade. It was impossible for someone who'd lost his twin to be that content with his life.

In his years at Hogwarts, Grant had hardly made friends. Every friendship he _had_ made had been short-lived and awkward because he didn't have the patience to deal with people and didn't have the heart to be close to someone without her. He was not the only one who suffered. His mum would often still cry when she thought he wasn't looking and if Anastasia was ever mentioned, his dad's eyes would turn that same cool grey colour they always did when someone brought up things he didn't like to think about.

At first, his teachers had tried to be understanding, but they had more or less given up on him. The pity he could see in their eyes drove him absolutely mad. Only two of them seemed to have noticed how irritated he got every time they looked at him with those eyes. Longbottom's solution, in all honesty, wasn't much better. He stopped looking Grant in the eyes, which made sense because Grant figured the guy was a bit too much of a bleeding heart to keep the pity out of his eyes. McKnight, on the other hand, now had a very odd look on her face whenever she addressed him. It was as if she was trying to mask her pity, but there was too much familiarity there for her to do it with great success.

These two teachers were probably his favourite. They were the only ones whose classes he even bothered with when he was assigned work and the only ones whose families he bothered with when that day arrived.

The new headmistress had decided that trying new things would help kids get excited about school again and this was one of the new things they were trying. All of the professors had their extended families come and help teach classes, whatever subject each excelled at the most. Longbottom had refused to invite his son-in-law's family to help because, in his words, "The entire castle will be blown up by the end of the first day if they come." He did, however, have both his kids and his son-in-law himself come. Despite everything, Grant had always been rather fond of them. Indeed, Longbottom's son-in-law, who Grant knew as Uncle James even though he was really a cousin, was one of the only people he'd ever allowed himself to get close to. His family had always spent time around the Longbottoms, so it was no surprise that he spoke with the family, but he caught everyone off guard with the McKnights.

Professor McKnight had no children, but her brother did. He brother had grandchildren as well and, although most of them were much older than Grant, one was not. He thought that, at the oldest, the girl couldn't be more than eighteen, a couple years older than him. He didn't approach her. He was never the one to approach anybody, it was always the other way around. She decided to sit at the Gryffindor table because her grandfather and great aunt had both been in Gryffindor. What Grant couldn't explain was why she'd decided to sit next to him, of all people. But she did.

He had dealt with the few family members of his professors who had tried to talk to him quickly and gotten it over with, but somehow it didn't feel right with her. She smiled at him and dimples deepened in her cheeks. "Hi there. I'm Hope McKnight."

Grant considered her for a moment before deciding that answering couldn't possibly do any harm. "Grant."

She gave him a calculating look, her copper eyes twinkling, "That's it? Just Grant?"

He inclined his head. "Yeah. Just Grant."

"Well…I'm hoping you'll grant me my wish then."

He groaned at the puns, "What's that?"

"Tell me your full name."

He paused yet again before answering quietly, "My name is Grant Remus Lupin."

"_I knew it_!!!" Much to his dismay, she looked genuinely excited. He hated when people were like this. He was a fairly well-kept secret…people knew of course, all about the Lupin family, and everyone knew that somewhere along the way Teddy Lupin (as the press still insisted on calling him) married Victoire Weasley and many even suspected that they had children. But no one knew his name, no one had ever known his name unless they met him in person, and he quite liked it that way. He was certain, however, that Hope had to be just some idiot girl who was excited to meet the child of someone as famous as his father. She must have seen this written on his face because she added, "My great aunt has pictures…from ages ago…and I thought you looked like…" she trailed off, frowning at him.

"Bad cover-up. I've seen pictures of my grandpa and I look nothing like him."

"It was actually…your…cousin I suppose, Sirius Black. You look like him and I knew his only other living relatives were the Malfoys who really look nothing like him so I figured you were probably a Lupin. Sorry if I offended you, I didn't mean…"

He shook his head. "That's fine."

She smiled a little more shyly than she had done before. "Can we start over?"

He sighed and met her eyes. "Why are you even bothering with me?"

"Because you look like you need a friend."

This caught him very off guard, but he didn't like people knowing when they had the power to surprise him, so he took to examining an orange.

"Will you be my friend?"

Him? Friends with someone called Hope? Grant didn't miss the irony there.


	2. Eyes

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter…. **_**or anything else that J.K. Rowling owns o.O**

**Thanks to my beta Choices HP**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Eyes**

Hope was unlike any friend Grant had ever had. For one thing, she followed him around like a lost puppy. He had trouble deciding whether that was flattering, annoying, or just plain creepy, so he came to the conclusion that it was all three. Another way she was different was how she carried herself. She seemed happy, self-confident, and a bit fiery at times. Normally, he attracted the dark, brooding sorts because that was what he had always been like himself, or at least what he had been like since that day in his first year. The there was her patience. Oh, her patience. He seriously didn't understand why she didn't go find someone else's life to intrude on, there was no way he could possibly be good company. But, no matter how many times he snapped at her when he didn't really mean to, completely ignored her attempts at friendly conversation (which, irritatingly enough, always had to do with _family life_ of all things), and just acted moody in general, she stood by his side. Again, he wasn't sure whether this was flattering or annoying. Certainly he'd never had as loyal of a friend as her, which kind of threw the whole "brave and _loyal_" part of the Gryffindor image out the window, but he was quite literally a lone wolf and it was definitely out of his comfort zone spending so much time around people. This was made even worse by the fact that she seemed to have noticed his vast knowledge of Transfiguration and, more specifically, Animagi. She seemed a bit too interested in this for him to just point it back to her general friendliness and that made him uncomfortable.

Okay, so maybe he _was_ sure whether these things were flattering or annoying. They were most certainly annoying. Normally, his general impatience and moodiness repelled people like her, but she seemed immune to him and he really couldn't see what he could do about her other than ignore her and hope that she went away. Something was keeping him from telling her to go away, though. He couldn't put his finger on it, but for some reason it just didn't feel right being outright rude to her.

She had been there for nearly a month before he realised what it was. She sat down across from where he was sitting at a table in the library. He was working on homework and didn't even look up when she sat down. "How do you manage to come up with this much work to do?" She asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I mean, haven't you already done the homework for all of your classes?"

He still didn't look up from the passage he was reading, "Yeah, but McKnight offered and extra credit assignment about Harry Potter and I thought I'd do it because no one in my family can handle talking about him. I don't really understand why…" He didn't know why he said the last sentence, it wasn't necessarily true and definitely wasn't what bothered him about his parents' silence over the fallen hero. He understood perfectly well why his family might have difficulty talking about Harry. After all, he never talked about Anastasia if he could help it. No, what bothered him was that, as often as his parents told him that they had lost loved ones, too, that they understood exactly what he was feeling, and that he'd have an easier time coping if he just talked about it, he'd never heard them utter a word about the loved ones they'd lost. They'd hardly even mentioned Anastasia since she'd died, not that he could say he was any better in that regard. It bothered him that he knew nothing about them, that they never mentioned their pasts to him, that he was learning everything about his family from a stupid textbook. How was he supposed to believe them when they told him how to deal with loss when they so obviously couldn't deal with it, either? How was he supposed to take their advice when they didn't take it themselves? How would they even understand what he felt when, no matter how much they _had_ lost, neither of them had lost a part of themselves?

He had been staring at one word on the page for nearly five minutes now. The word "lost". What a stupid way to put it. Harry had _lost_ his parents at age one. That was complete bollocks. He knew exactly where his parents were, they were just dead so they weren't there to look after him. Grant's dad had _lost_ his parents when he was only a week old, _lost_ his grandmother and godfather when he was twenty-one, and _lost_ his daughter when he was thirty-five. As if his dad was that careless. He would never have lost anything that was truly important to him, no matter how careless he might be with things that weren't. And Grant hadn't lost his sister, he could still feel the place where she had been torn away from him and could find his way from either here or his house to the place she was buried with his eyes closed. No, it wasn't her he lost. It was himself.

Still staring at the word, he felt his eyes begin to burn and his throat close up. The word on the page blurred, so he closed the book. Who was Harry Potter to him, anyway? Just another famous name. Just another man he had to learn about for his History of Magic class. Just another thing his father wouldn't tell him.

"I think you do understand why."

It was painfully easy to forget that he wasn't always alone anymore. It made him uncomfortable displaying any sort of emotion around people, especially people he'd only met a month ago. So, on the pretense of putting the book back on the shelf, he wiped his eyes, sincerely hoping she hadn't seen this.

"Are you okay?"

In response, he pulled another book off the shelf and sat back down, opening it up and pretending to read it. No. He was not okay. But was it her business? Maybe. After all, hadn't he agreed to be her friend? Yes, but did he agree to be her personal waterfall? No, he hadn't. So, he began to actually read. He realised quickly that he had opened the book to a page that included the obituary written for _The Daily Prophet_.

"_Harry Potter died at the young age of thirty-nine."_

Thirty-nine. The _young_ age of thirty-nine? Anastasia hadn't lived to be twelve.

"_He was succeeded in death by his parents, James and Lily Potter and his godfather Sirius Black. He died as many believe he would have wanted to go, fighting along side his loved ones. His wife, Ginevra Potter, died at his side. He leaves behind three children, Lily, James, and Albus Potter, a godson, Ted Lupin, parents-in-law Arthur and Molly Weasley, brothers-in-law Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron Weasley, sisters-in-law Fleur, Audrey, Angelina, and Hermione Weasley, and numerous nieces and nephews."_

That was an awful lot of people to leave behind. But how many of them were truly lost without Harry? Grant would guess six. Harry's kids, Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, and Grant's father. Anastasia had had a huge list of people she was leaving behind , too. Everyone from her parents to Uncle Hugo's pet owl. But how many were lost without her? Only two, probably. Grant's dad was lost before that, so he didn't count. That left his mum and him. And good Lord, was he lost.

He was having serious trouble fighting back the tears now. Usually he was quite good at it, but when it came down to it, little things could still push him over the edge. Stupid things like extra credit assignments. He put his face in his hands.

"I don't get it." Once again, he was brought back into reality by Hope's voice. "You really seemed to like the idea of being my friend at first, but I'm sitting here and _nothing_. The most I think you've ever talked to me was to ask why I kept following you around. You don't get that the reason I'm always here is that—" She broke off for a moment, before continuing from a different place than she left off. "I mean, I've told you everything about myself from my favourite colour to my wildest, most embarrassing dreams and ambitions and what do I get in return? A bloody brick wall. I know nothing about you except for your stupid name and, to be honest, I don't give a crap what your name is! You don't even look me in the eyes half the time!"

At that moment, he decided it would be better not to ignore her any longer. Maybe she'd see a bit of what he was feeling. Maybe she'd see more than he necessarily wanted people to see. But, somehow, he knew he'd have to stop hiding some day. So he looked up and met her eyes. "I don't answer your bloody questions because they're all about my family life! 'What're your parents like?' 'Are any of your cousins cool?' 'You must know Ron and Hermione. They're legends! What're they like?' 'Do. You. Have. A-any. S-s-siblings?'" He couldn't finish what he was saying and ended by breaking the eye contact and putting his face back in his hands.

It was her eyes. He didn't know if they made it better or worse. It wasn't the colour, though the fact that they were pretty much the negative of Anastasia's eyes didn't help; copper where Anastasia's were golden brown, golden brown where Anastasia's were copper. It was more the emotion in them than anything. The set of them. The sort of grim determination softened only by the love and caring that was clearly felt deep in her heart. It was exactly like Anastasia's eyes had been. Exactly like.

This had to be the reason that, as annoying as she was, he couldn't bring himself to make her go away. It was certainly the reason that he was now sobbing into his hands, really hoping he wasn't shaking badly enough that it would be obvious. This was the first time he could remember falling to pieces in front of _anyone_, including his parents, since he was eleven years old, on the worst day of his life.

He was surprised to feel someone put their hand on his shoulder. "I wish you would let me help you," Hope's voice was much softer and gentler than he'd ever heard it before, and this actually helped a little. He felt an odd desire to tell her about Anastasia, but quite simply could not because by now he was crying too hard to say anything. She seemed to understand and sat down, wrapped an arm around him, and said, in the same soft voice, "Grant, you need to talk to someone."


	3. Talking

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling pretty much owns the entire universe. And I'm only exaggerating a little bit.**

**Thanks to my beta Choices HP**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Talking**

The first person he talked to was Hope. He suddenly felt as though he could speak freely around her, and he told her as much as he could manage; about how close he had been to Anastasia, about how her illness had kept her from going to Hogwarts with him, about how she had died only a few weeks after he'd come to school. When he told her about his sister's death, he had to stop several times to pull himself back together. When, at last, he had finished telling her about the day he lost himself, his voice was completely hoarse and he had such a powerful flow of emotions building up in his chest that he didn't think he could have gone on even if he'd wanted to.

For once, she seemed at a complete loss for words. She just sat there, mutely rubbing Grant's back and looking horribly disheartened. After several long minutes of silence, she managed to force out, "I honestly had no idea. I'm so sorry I kept asking you about your family…I know I wouldn't want to talk about something like that to someone I barely know…"

He shook his head and managed to choke out, "It's fine. You were right. I needed to talk." He tried to smile at her, but it was a weak attempt and he doubted it had the effect he was hoping for.

"Yeah, you did," her voice still sounded very small and weak with the shock of what she'd just heard. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that talking about this kind of thing helped?"

"Yeah," he answered softly, "but I wasn't so keen on listening to them because I'm pretty sure they never talked about this sort of thing, either."

Hope sighed. "The world is full of very wise people who can't take their own advice, Grant. That doesn't mean it's bad advice, it just means it's difficult advice to take." She paused for a very long time before venturing onwards. "Is there…anyone else you'd like to talk to about this?"

Of course there were other people he wanted to—no, needed to—talk to. He could probably fill up an entire book with just the names of people. The easiest person would probably be Uncle James. But he wasn't the most important person. So who all did he need to talk to? Uncle Al, though he was even less important than Uncle James, and the same went for Aunt Lily. Great Uncle Ron. Great Aunt Hermione. His grandma. His grandpa. His other grandparents might have even helped if it had been possible to talk to them. Harry Potter would have, too. Or at least, he would have helped him understand his parents. Anastasia. No, he had to stop thinking the impossible. And he had to stop thinking of the irrelevant. He _would_ have to talk to James, some day. But not before his mum. Definitely not before his dad. And then there was…but he couldn't. He couldn't tear down everything the man had build up over the past forty years. But he would make sense. He would make more sense than just about anyone else in the world. Grant didn't want to, but he really thought it would help.

"Yes. Will you come with me on the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Go with you where?"

"To the joke shop," he replied with an uncomfortable sort of smile. "I need to talk to the owner."

* * *

"Oi! I did _not _tell you to put that in your pocket! I told you to put it up on the shelf!"

"I think if he promises to use it on Oliver to try and get him to retire already, you should let him keep it."

"You know, love, that's a brilliant idea. What say, you scoundrel?"

"I agree; that's brilliant idea. That way someone younger and…er…less mental could captain."

"You just want his job, don't you?"

"Would I have said _less mental_ if I did?"

"Nah, Angelina, he's to busy being the ministry's Jack of all trades to be Quidditch captain, too."

Grant groaned and leaned against the wall just outside of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, listening to the conversation going on just inside the door. He turned to Hope. "My dad's in there. What the _bloody hell_ would my dad be doing in a joke shop? I can't even remember the last time I saw him laugh."

"How should I know? I've never met your dad. You could still find the shop owner, you know."

"_He is talking to the shop owner, Hope._" Grant put his hand up to stop her answering so he could listen a bit longer.

"What on earth are you talking about, you didn't ask to be involved in the ministry?" George Weasley sounded exasperated. "You're reminding me of Ron, going on about how you didn't ask for any of this even though you were the one who made the first move and you were always the one who volunteered to do things during the war. You may not want it anymore, but you certainly did ask for it in the first place."

Grant glanced in through a window and saw that the entire, completely packed shop seemed to have stopped to listen. Not that it was a surprise. Ted Lupin, the _famous_ Ted Lupin, was having a conversation with the shop owner. That was big news, even if it shouldn't have shocked anyone to see a Lupin talking to a Weasley.

Ted took a moment in answering. "You mean I'm reminding you Harry but you don't want to say it so you replaced his name with Ron's."

You could have heard a pin drop. In fact, several people did hear more than just a pin drop as a bag full of things he'd bought from Honeydukes and Dervish and Banges slipped from Grant's hands with his shock.

The noise seemed to snap George back into reality. "Okay. Okay, yes. You're reminding me of Harry. So d'you fancy talking about something else?"

Hope got down and helped Grant pick up his things. "It looks like some of your candy is ruined, but the rest of your stuff looks fine. What was that about, anyway?"

"Dad…dad _never_ talks about Harry. You don't know how weird this is, really." He gathered his bags back up in his arms and peaked in the door to see George and his father now examining something on the shelf. He turned back around to look at Hope, frowning.

"I know that everyone in there is doing it, too, but it really isn't polite to eavesdrop." Grant spun around, startled, to see Angelina looking at him, smiling slightly. "What brings you here, anyway? I haven't seen you at the shop in ages."

He didn't really want to answer, he just wanted to talk to George, so he motioned mutely toward the door.

"Oh, right. You don't talk. I'd forgotten."

"Wh-what? Why does everyone keep saying you never talk?" Grant spluttered.

"It might have something to do with the fact that you don't," Hope offered helpfully.

Angelina laughed, turning to Hope. "Are you a friend of Grant's? I'm Angelina Weasley."

"Hope McKnight." They shook hands with her, "And he's here because he wanted to talk to the shop owner. I believe he's your husband?"

"And you decided to wait out here because he doesn't want his dad to find out," Angelina replied knowingly. Grant considered arguing, but then just shrugged. "You're going to have to wait an awfully long time if you're not planning on going in until Ted's gone. He's supposed to help out here all day."

Grant groaned.

But Hope was beaming. "That's perfect. He needs to talk to Mr. Lupin, too. Don't you, Grant?"

Grant turned to her with a mutinous expression on his face. "I am not talking to both of them in one day!"

Hope rolled her eyes. "Well, you could at least let your dad know that you need to talk to him. I'm sure he'll give you all the time you need." With that, she forcefully dragged him into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Where no amount of gawking, photographing, or asking for autographs had managed to slow Ted and George's conversation, their entrance into the store did.

Ted smiled, said hello, and asked him the normal questions (How are you? What are Gryffindor's prospects in Quidditch this year? Are you enjoying your classes?), thankfully refraining from maintaining an annoying parenting air as he did. Then, he noticed Hope. He did a relatively good job hiding his surprise that his son wasn't alone, though his eyes did turn a vibrant green colour for a moment. "Hi, I'm Ted Lupin," he said, holding his hand out for her to shake.

"Hope McKnight," she said for the second time that day, shaking his hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he said politely, "Here for the, what did Professor Elphick decide to call it? 'Family Cooperative Learning Operation'?"

Hope ignored George's snorting at the name and replied, "Yes. Professor McKnight is my aunt." She turned to Grant, "You don't have to just stand there staring, you know. You could do something productive like, oh, I dunno, talk to the shop owner because that's what you came here for."

Grant paused for a moment, a bit confused, but when she turned back and started talking to his dad again, he resigned to the fact that it was probably now or never. "Er…Great Uncle George? Can I talk to you?"

"How many time have I told you that my greying hair makes me feel old enough without having to be a great uncle? I'll only talk to you if you swear on Merlin's saggy left—"

"_George_!"

"…er…shoe...not to call me that again," he finished, rolling his eyes at his wife and grumbling, "Women…"

"Okay, Great Uncle George, I swear to never call you Great Uncle George again," Grant answered with a slight smirk.

"Everyone and there mum is a smart arse these days," George said, rolling his eyes yet again, but heading towards the back room to talk, anyway.

"You know my mother makes me call you that, right?" Grant asked as he followed.

"It's like I said, everyone and their mum. She knows I hate being called that." George closed the door behind them, sitting down on a crate marked "Ton Tongue Toffees" and motioning for Grant to do the same. "Now, how can I be of service? Skiving Snackboxes? Punching Telescopes? Those things still get Hermione…you'd think she'd've picked up on it by now… Trick Wands? Weasley's Best Firew—"

"I wanted to talk to you about…about Fred," Grant paused before, to be quite clear he wasn't talking about Uncle Fred, adding, "You know…your brother." He looked apologetically up.

George's entire demeanor changed at this. His posture collapsed upon itself a bit and, for the first time in Grant's memories, he actually looked as old as his birth date suggested. He seemed to be struggling for words. After a long while, he managed to force out one word. "Oh."

Grant took a deep breath before continuing in an even quieter voice than usual, "I need to know…how can you live like this? How—how can you be so happy? I mean, you founded this place with him, didn't you? And you can just keep on running it, perfectly happy, knowing that the other half of you is gone? That the person you made the place with is gone? How is it that you don't still feel like something's been torn out of you? How is it that you can move on? Why can't I?" His voice broke.

For a long time, George just sat there, staring at the ground and looking as though his world had just crashed down all around him. Then, painstakingly, he raised his turquoise eyes to meet Grant's. Grant didn't fail to notice that they were full of tears that George would not let fall. "You don't move on," he replied at last. "The pain doesn't go away. You never forget what it was like when they were still around, and there would be something seriously wrong with you if you didn't still think about Anastasia sometimes and feel the agony of losing her all over again.

"Fred seems to jump up at me in the most unexpected times. The film from when Angelina and I got married. There were pictures of the two of us there because it had just been _that long_ since we'd developed photographs. I'll be rummaging through the stores at the Diagon Alley branch of WWW and find a product we never started circulating with his signature on it. He's everywhere. He's in the very air I breathe. And, let me tell you, that made it damn near impossible to get on with my life for some time after he died.

"But I did get on with my life. I never moved on, necessarily, but I did get on. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but the pain will always be there. Just don't be afraid to let someone help you when it hurts particularly badly. I think that's probably the biggest reason why this has been so crippling for you.

"When Fred died, I tried to be on my own for a while, but the longer I pushed people away, the more I knew that I'd never be able to have a real life if I kept that up. It took me a year, I think, to finally come out of solitude. I took some time getting to know everyone again, married Angelina, and had Freddie with her before I even faced this bloody shop again.

"It had been five years since he died, maybe even to the day because I know it was around a week after your dad turned five and might have been your mum's third birthday, before I faced this place again. The pain had been dulled a lot by then, and when I was distracted by the people I loved, it sometimes wasn't even there, so I suppose I was a bit afraid that it'd all come back if I came here and was a bit reluctant to do that. But Lee was threatening to slip the purple half of a Puking Pastille into my food when I was least expecting it if I didn't come back soon and I knew he knew how to make the things, so I figured it was time. I'm still a bit nervous around food, mind you.

"I was expecting it to be terrible, but it was nowhere near as bad as I thought. And I sort of went back to being me again…completely for the first time since he died. Lee and sometimes Harry and Ron would help me in Fred's stead and, once he learned enough magic to actually be able to give us pointers (which was when he was about twelve, mind you), your dad helped, too. He was brilliant. I thought he would wind up my successor as manager when I got too old to carry on with all this and I think Hermione was irritated that that was how he chose to use his knowledge he'd gotten when she read textbooks to him as a baby. No, I don't know what was wrong with her. Harry was about ready to throttle her when he found out about that because he swore she was breeding another Percy. Percy _did_ throttle Harry for that.

"But then your dad decided to be a Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts with a side job as Chaser for Puddlemere United. He was never the same after that first battle of the war. It wasn't really even a battle, more of an ambush. But he blamed himself for everything that happened. 'Survivor's guilt', Hermione called it when Ron and I asked how he worked that one out.

"Kingsley set up a covert operations group, which was basically the first job your dad applied for after graduating, and he assigned Ted at the head.

"Now, things are getting better all the time, but you know that there's still prejudice against halfbreeds and even Muggleborns. Well, Your dad applied for a job with a different covert operations group straight out of Hogwarts. Kid was a genius, twelve Outstanding NEWTs and he beat everyone in the group at dueling no problem. But somehow they worked out that because his dad was a werewolf, he might be dangerous. So, he figured to hell with them and went to be a professor/Quidditch player.

"Kingsley had this on record. Actually, he was good friends with your grandpa, so when he found out about what happened; he full-sweep fired everyone in that team for 'unjust persecution based on matters outside of the applicant's control'.

"Anyway, he put your dad at the head of that group and, considering it was pretty much his dream job, he stuck with it. I'm not going to go into the gory details of the war, but you know the basic point. After a few years, around three, I expect, Ted realised that he was going to blow himself up if he kept up working all three jobs and quit his job as Transfiguration Professor, which definitely did not make McGonagall happy but was probably for the best considering Victoire found out she was pregnant with you and your sister not long after.

"Even after the war ended, he stuck with those two jobs, which pretty much means that they're here to stay (I hope he gets his head knocked off by a bludger for leaving me without a successor). Joking! I'm joking. Really, though, they're not exactly jobs you can keep into old age, so maybe he could still…never mind, he had to inherit the stupid Metamorphmagus thing so he'll be in perfect physical shape until he dies and can keep those jobs up for ever. Poor shop…what will happen when I'm gone?"

George sighed, shaking his head tragically at the ceiling. "Merlin, I went off on a tangent there. Sorry."

Suddenly realising that he had been gaping at George, Grant closed his mouth. "Er…that's fine. I-I kind of wanted to know more about my dad, anyway." He'd gotten more from this than he would ever have expected possible. "And…er…how come you—well, all my family—has trouble talking about Harry, I mean, twenty minutes ago you were completely speechless when Dad said his name, but you were fine talking about him just now?" He figured to go with whatever questions he had at this point because it was obvious George wasn't holding back.

The older man looked a little uncomfortable for a moment. The sadness that had mostly left his eyes by now began to show once again, but he replied, "A lot of us don't, really. The problem is, a lot of us do. After he died, I didn't think I had a problem with it until I noticed that Ron hit me in the face every time I said 'Harry', even if I was talking about this bloke who used to work for me Harry Bludgeon, and decided that that was a problem. Mum normally bursts into tears when he's mentioned and Dad drops whatever he's holding. Ted drops whatever he's holding even when we're talking about the function of rubber ducks, so it's hard to tell if he cares when people talk about Harry, but I've just gotten so used to _not_ saying his name that I dodge around it automatically and I reckon it's like that with a lot of people in our family."

That actually made sense, so Grant decided it was probably time to backtrack. "So…what you think I should do is be around people who care about me and stop taking the world so seriously?"

"Exactly! It's what I did and now I'm the most normal person in the world, aren't I?" George gave a big, goofy grin and added, "Now, if we're going backwards, where were we before? Oh, yes. Punching Telescopes. Do take one and use it on Hermione, will you? She took one of the products I was working on from me a while back and refuses to hand it over. Seems to think exploding cauldrons would be dangerous. Absolutely mental, that woman."

* * *

"You know the interesting thing about your dad, Grant?"

"What?"

"He is _not that bad_. From the way you talk, you'd think he was the humourless child of Hades or something. He's actually really nice. And he has a wicked sense of humour if you let him joke with you."

Grant and Hope were back at Hogwarts, surrounded by the extra five bags of Honeydukes chocolate that Grant's dad had given them, insisting that chocolate was God's gift to mankind and that it shouldn't go to waste ("He's right, it cures everything from mosquito bites to syphilis," George had added, earning a smack in the back of the head from Angelina).

"I never said he was a horrible person, I just said he never joked around and I didn't know much about him. Honestly, I think I learned more about him from George talking to me earlier than I have from living with him for nearly seventeen years."

"You're not exactly the easiest person in the world to joke with, you know. Maybe he was just in a good mood today, but I swear half the things he said to me were jokes."

"Yeah, George seemed to think he was hilarious, too. I've never seen that, though."

"Maybe if you weren't such a downer all the time, you'd get to see it. Your family isn't actually known for its pessimism Grant, that's just you."

Grant put his face in his hands and grumbled, "Yeah, well, my life hasn't exactly been a stroll through daisy-filled fields with a big smiley-faced sun, 'Good Day Sunshine' by the Beatles constantly playing in the background, Carebears running around, rainbows, and all the chocolate you can eat."

Hope snorted. "I have no idea what 'Good Day Sunshine' or Carebears are and haven't got a clue how a beetle could write music, but I reckon you definitely _do_ have all the chocolate you can eat."

Grant paused. "Point taken."

"_But_ I think the fact that you're dead convinced your dad is the most serious bloke on the face of the planet probably means you should talk to him next." She cringed, as though expecting him to attack her.

Instead, he sighed. "Maybe."

"How did your talk with George go, anyway?"

"Pretty good. I didn't do much talking, but once he got going, he didn't stop. I know he skipped over a lot, but he told me a bit about my dad and the war without even having to ask him. I felt horrible for bringing up Fred to him, though. He looked almost as bad as I feel when I think about Anastasia when he was talking about him."

Hope didn't want to sound tactless, but she figured that people who grew up around the Weasleys didn't realise how little people who didn't knew and had to ask, "Who's Fred?"

Grant laughed humourlessly. "Depends on the context. Here…this Fred…he was George's twin brother who died in the Battle of Hogwarts, but I also have a first cousin once removed called Fred, George's son. There are loads of people in my family named after dead people. You, know, there's Fred, named after his dead uncle. My middle name's for my dead grandpa. Dad's named for his dead grandpa and dead dad, though his dad wasn't dead yet when he was born. Let's see…James was named for his dad's dead father and dead godfather, Al for two dead headmasters, and Lily for her dead grandma. It's kind of weird that her middle name is for someone who's still alive. I suppose you could even say my mum was named for a dead war. Victoire…French for victory because she was born on the second anniversary of the end of the war."

Hope frowned. "I don't know if the name thing is sad or cute. I really like Victoire though, the name and reason for it. But, back to George. Did…did it help?"

Grant sighed. "I dunno. Maybe. Probably will in the long run, but it was a bit off-putting to be told that she'll still jump out at me at random, even when it feels like the pain's gone."

"He said that? That's a horrible thing for him to say to someone who went to him to be comforted."

His eyes went a steely grey and he answered stiffly, "I did _not_ go to him to be comforted. I went to him because I needed to know if I would feel this way forever."

"And he said you would?"

"No. Well, yes, he said I would if I keep on living like this. But pretty much what he said is if I choose to live my life, I can. He told me the pain will never be completely gone and it might jump out at me sometimes, but if I quit dwelling on it, it can be numbed and sometimes I won't even feel it anymore."

"You seem to have a problem with that."

Grant groaned and hit his head on the wall they were leaning against. "I _do_, but I don't know what it is."

Hope took several measuring breaths, then said very quietly, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're too bitter. You're angry with the world for dealing you a bad hand and you think you deserve to have more."

"Well, maybe if someone was there for me when I needed them, and I don't mean you because you came a bit late for that, then—"

"YOUR PARENTS ARE THERE FOR YOU!" Hope shouted, cutting him off. "Look, I thought they might have been the problem before I met your dad, but they're seriously concerned about you. Your dad told me that he hadn't seen you act so normally since before Anastasia died and thanked me for whatever I did to help you. When I asked him about it, he told me he and your mum had tried communicating with you, but every time they did you either stormed off or shouted at them. _I agree with you_ that they should have talked to you about their past, but it's not like they've never tried to help. It's not easy to help someone who doesn't want it."

It took a long time for Grant to reply, and when he did, his voice was dangerously quiet. "They should have taken their own advice if they wanted me to. They should have told me things instead of leaving me in the dark."

Hope sighed and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "They should have. I never said you were wrong about that. All I'm saying is that, for you to expect them to help you, you have to believe that they can."

The silence that followed wasn't precisely uncomfortable, but definitely not comfortable, either. For the first time since he met Hope, Grant was forced to actually think about his parents and why they had never told him anything. He wondered vaguely if it really was because they didn't want to have to talk about it. He wondered if they ever _had_ talked about it, just to someone else. Finally, he hit the big point. If his dad didn't ever talk about it or face everything, how could he possibly still be living with his head up high after he lost so much and blamed himself for so much?

"I need to talk to Dad next."


	4. All Those Years Ago

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Harry Potter**_** or any characters you recognise.**

**Thanks to my beta Choices HP.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: All Those Years Ago  
**

It was a Weasley Christmas Eve, which would have been exciting and wonderful if it weren't for the facts that Grant had already been to sixteen of these, was wearing a pink sweater because little Jesse Potter had thrown it in the wash with his white one, and Grant was about to do something that he was very, extremely, unbearable, terribly, horribly, really-oh-truly-oh nervous about. Just a little bit, though.

"Dad, can I talk to you?"

Ted Lupin turned to him, a little bit surprised. Apparently Hope _hadn't_ told his dad that he wanted to talk, after all. "Er…yeah. Yeah, of course."

His dad may have gotten twelve Outstanding NEWTs and the highest scores ever recorded by the Auror Department at the ministry, but that certainly had nothing to do with street smarts. "Er…you know…alone…?" Grant added, eyeing the huge group of people they were at the centre of.

"What? Oh. Right. Sorry." He allowed himself to be led away from the crowd by his son.

Grant went to the first solitary place he could think of, which was around the pond by the Burrow, under the weeping willow. In a different lifetime, he and Anastasia had snuck to this spot to eat all of the food they'd nicked from the kitchens that they weren't supposed to have.

"Tell me about the war. About Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. It was a command.

For a very long moment, Ted seemed to freeze. Then, he began. He made absolutely no introduction to the topic; he just jumped straight into the middle.

"We didn't see it coming. No one did. The world had been at peace since 1998, but obviously there had been something stirring under the surface because after that day a full-blown war broke out.

"I fancied myself a decent duelist. I was on top of my class in everything and every time I'd had to duel in a controlled setting, I'd come off on top, even when I dueled Hermione. But I'd never experienced anything like it before and we were hugely outnumbered. Harry was already taking on eight people at once before he came to save me. Before the fighting even started, two of my best mates had been shot down and I was already a bit shaken by that. Vee's aunt on her mum's side was the first to die in battle. Your mother and I…er…hadn't been together for around a year at the time, but I still rather liked her family and allowed myself to be more distracted by it than I should have. I was stupid. I was inexperienced, and I looked away from the people I was dueling…"

* * *

_Teddy didn't even see the spell coming, but before he knew it, he had slammed into the ice so heavily that it cracked beneath him. He tried to pull himself up, but evidently the ice wasn't this only thing that cracked because he felt a sharp pain cut into his side as soon as he started to push himself off the ground. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't ignore it and collapsed back to the ground._

_He was laying on his side, half in the snow, half on the ice, watching his assailants advance. There was nothing else for it. They knew he was still alive, but he wouldn't stay that way unless he could somehow find it in himself to get up. So, he reached out and grabbed his wand, forced himself up, and stood his ground. It was weird, but once he did this, he could hardly even feel the pain. And so it started all over._

_He dodged, he parried, he tried to throw in a few spells against them. But there were five of them and only one of him, so all he could manage was to hold them back. He couldn't shake them off and he certainly couldn't keep this up forever. Then there was the matter of his mobility. The cracked ribs were making it considerably more difficult for him to dodge the onslaught. Finally, something else hit him. He had no idea what it was, but it made something inside his head seem to explode. His vision completely blacked out, but he had to still be conscious because he could fell his knees hit the ground and could hear someone run in front of him._

_But he was in absolute agony. He didn't know how long he knelt there, trying to get whatever was in his head out, trying to be able to see again, but finally, it came back. His vision was blurry at first, but he could see a tall figure with messy black hair trying to fight off fourteen people. It was Harry, who, of course, would be there protecting Teddy because of what Ron called "acting the hero" and Hermione called his "saving-people-thing"._

_The man who had hit Teddy with the curse was lying on the ground, either unconscious or dead. The world was still swimming, his head aching dully, and his vision blurred, but he knew that time stopped for no man, so he grabbed his wand and, again, prepared to get back up and fight. This time, he was having a real struggle with it because his balance was off as an aftereffect of that last curse. It wasn't as though his balance was great in the first place._

_But that changed completely in a matter of seconds. As great of a wizard as he was, Harry could not effectively fight fourteen people at once and a curse hit him. _The_ curse hit him. He had survived it two times before, but, as Teddy watched him fall, he knew that he hadn't done it again. _

_Harry's body hadn't even hit the ground before Teddy was back on his feet, completely void of any pain and dueling with more strength and energy than he'd ever done before. He actually managed to defeat a couple of people. But Gabrielle and Harry weren't the only ones who had fallen and more people were coming at him than ever before. The rush of adrenaline and fury he'd experienced upon watching his godfather being murdered was wearing off, to be replaced by pain and sorrow. They had dueled their way to the cliff that Gabrielle had taken them here to see by the time someone took him down, too._

_The man made a slashing motion with his wand and Teddy's insides quite literally tore apart. The last thing he remembered was falling backwards into nothingness._

* * *

When Ted had gotten to the part in his story where Harry died, his voice had cracked badly, but he continued on, sounding rather hoarse. By this point in the story, he had slid down the trunk of the willow into a sitting position and put his face in his hands. Though he wasn't crying, Grant could tell his father was on the verge of tears and that made him feel oddly helpless.

Ted took several stabilizing breaths before continuing in a voice so quiet it could easily have been mistaken for the sound of a breeze against the trees, "The healers said I was lucky. I had suffered severe internal and external trauma and I'd been lying there, buried in snow for nearly eight hours before some Muggles who'd gone up the mountain for a ski found me. I should have died. I _would_ have died if some rocks and ice hadn't gotten in the way to slow my fall down the cliff. If my cells hadn't been able to rearrange themselves to stabilise my condition…if I hadn't been a Metamorphmagus.

"I wished I had died. I wished it could have been me instead of everyone else. Hell, I would have been happy if I'd managed to have one person live instead of me. But instead, I was the person who lived. I was the person who couldn't save anyone…my godfather—the closest thing I'd ever had to a parent—was dead because of my stupidity. And everyone else…Cayden, Jenn…you've probably never even heard of them but they were—were two of the first friends I made outside the Potter-Weasley family. And then Gabrielle, Ginny, Gran…

"Lucky my arse… "

His voice, already so soft, trailed off at the end so that it was difficult to tell when exactly he'd stopped talking.

The silence that followed was long and painful. Grant found himself at such a complete loss for words that, despite how much he had said already, how much pain he was obviously in after reliving the memory, Ted was the first to talk.

"Why?"

Grant thought that was a very good question. Why had they done that? Another question might have been who. Who had done it and why? Why? Why did everything happen to his family? Why had his father lost everything? Why had Grant lost his sister? Why?

It wasn't until he saw the look on his dad's face that Grant realised the question was not rhetorical. "Why what?"

"Why did you ask about this?" Ted asked, running a hand through his chocolate brown hair. Two things about this let Grant know that his father was still far out of his comfort zone. First was the fact that he was running his hand through his hair, which Grant hadn't seen him do since before Anastasia died. The other was his hair itself. It was several shades darker than usual but still a very soft colour. Although Grant had only seen his hair this colour a handful of times, he knew it meant his dad was depressed.

"Because I've been wondering about it for a long time." This wasn't a complete lie. He hadn't cared enough about it to ask until recently, but he'd at least been curious before.

"Then why wait so long to ask?"

"Why wait so long to talk? You've been telling me I should for ages, but it sure as hell seems to me that this is the first time you've done it and you've had ages longer to brood than I have."

Grant could have sworn that Ted almost laughed at that. "Grant, this is _not_ the first time I talked about this. I've probably done it…Merlin…at least six times before now. Maybe more. Talking doesn't make it easier to relive what happened, it just makes it easier to survive when you aren't."

Grant stared at him for a long time before asking, "Yeah? Then who all have you told and why hadn't you told me?"

"The first person I told was Kingsley Shacklebolt, and that was kind of against my will. He came into my room at St. Mungo's the day after I woke up and asked me about it. The ministry had to know, and I was the only living person who would admit to being there, so I really didn't have a choice. After that, I told your mum…really, I kind of blew up at her about it, but…well…anyway, I've also told Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur, and each of the Potters separately. I don't think I've mentioned it once since the end of the war, which is why you haven't heard about it yet."

Grant looked out at the partially frozen lake. "I want to know everything, not just that. The war…you and Mum never talk about it…"

Ted leaned back against the tree and looked at the sky. It was starting to get dark. "Grant…" he said, his voice breaking slightly, "I…can't tell you everything. Not now. Not when…" His voice trailed off again and he ran his hand through his hair, staring out at the pond.

Grant groaned in frustration. He had thought he was getting somewhere, but it was quite obvious he wasn't going to get anything else out of his dad. "Thanks," he said, a bit more coldly than he'd intended, and got up, leaving his father sitting under the willow.

He was completely lost in thought when he returned to the Burrow. He'd found out a bit about his dad, sure, but the story really had brought about more questions than it had answered. The most obvious (and least important) of these were the things Ted had left out just so he could get done with the story faster. Where were they when it happened? Why was it just those people there? Really, his dad and his friends seemed out of place in that group.

Then, there were matters that Grant was quite certain he had dodged on purpose. At what point had he and Grant's mum split up and why? With a horrible lurch, he wondered if it could happen again. Who had killed Harry? An uncharacteristically dark look had crossed Ted's eyes when he mentioned it: angry, rather than sad as Grant would have expected. Did Ted know him?

After some time walking aimlessly in the backyard of the Burrow, Grant found himself standing just outside a huge snowball fight between all the Potter kids, most of the Weasleys and, oddly, some of their parents. Normally, he wouldn't join in with this kind of thing, but he thought maybe it would help clear his mind, so he leaned over, picked up some snow, packed it, and threw it at the back of Jesse Potter's head. Jesse's head lurched forward with the impact. He reached down, grabbed some snow, and turned to throw it back at his assailant. When he saw who it was, though, he froze, looking as though he thought the world had gone mad.

As he packed together another snowball, Grant thought that just maybe it had.


End file.
